a different league of gentlemen
by Daffidill
Summary: Greg Lestrade finds himself wondering if life with Mycroft Holmes is all it's cracked up to be...


*_ author's note: needed to write something about my two other favourite men on the show... I'm so wanting this to happen... Universe!_

_{accompanies_** partridges & pear trees**_ and _**the premiere league_, _**_my other two Lestrade/Mycroft stories...}_

_reviews welcomed with open arms..._ *

* * *

**a different league of gentlemen**

When Greg Lestrade moved in with his beloved, he had a suspicion that there were things he would be missing from his former life. He could list a few – having mates over for a few beers, having a fry-up in the middle of the night after a gruelling stake out, leaving the milk to go off in the fridge and then discovering this when he wanted some tea at three on a Sunday afternoon, without someone making a remark about it… He'd lived on his own before, and quite liked the lazy kind of things he could get away with without anybody making him feel in any way aware of this. But having now lived for a few months with the person that had won his heart, he was beginning to feel that those silly things began to become important…

Not that he was having second thoughts, in any way…

He loved the life he lived now, in a house that was at least four times bigger than the one he inhabited with his former wife, which was by no means small {he was still discovering rooms and corners…}, with the one that he had felt himself falling for slowly, in the space of six months, in a time when his personal life was becoming dire, and he felt there was only darkness, a greyness that had settled and looked like it would stay forever, that someone had made Greg feel wanted again... The man that became his beloved, in a way he thought was only real in stories… The man with the strangest name he'd ever come across, apart from this man's younger brother, perhaps. He'd never heard of _anyone_ called 'Mycroft' before…

That man was now sitting on the sofa next to him, reading densely worded documents that he would need to either approve or dismiss, and was having trouble staying awake. Greg could see that his eyes were growing heavy, and that he kept forcing himself to stay with it. He'd put a hand on Mycroft's arm, gently, to jolt his alertness for a little longer, until the next time. Greg loved it whenever it becomes too much in the end and he would move over to rest his head on Greg's shoulder, make himself comfortable against his body and drift off until they were both ready to go to bed: rare moments of this strong-willed, reserved fellow giving in to weakness… It wasn't that often that they got to spend time on the same sofa in the first place, both men having jobs that had them working unusual hours.

Sometimes he felt he had to pinch himself to make sure that this was real, that in the mornings he was actually waking up next to Mycroft Holmes, who had seemed so distant and hard to get to know, when he was introduced by his annoying little brother a few years previous. He had seemed, and acted, like the toffs Greg had known at school, all high and mighty, full of disdain for upstarts like him who'd managed to get into the posh grammar school {as if it was his fault in some way that his parents wanted him to do well, or that he was academic…}, and for a long time he felt a need to sneer back at them (while simultaneously suppressing the yearning he felt for one or two of them), and almost carried this on with Sherlock's older brother, but managed to keep this need in check, even if out of some professional obligation he felt. That and the fact that Mycroft had seemed so strangely fascinating…

'Gregory?'

'Hm…?' Greg had been glancing at the news on the telly and looked sideways to see Mycroft shift in the cushions of the sofa, turning towards him some more.

'May I ask you something?' He had put his papers down. 'It's just that… I get this feeling that… Gregory, my darling…'

Greg had raised his eyebrows and was willing his friend to say what he was apparently having some trouble with. 'Yes…?'

'Gregory… Are you completely happy in this house…? I mean, honestly…' Mycroft gave him the kind of concerned older uncle look that always gave him the giggles. Just like it did then.

'Happy? Here? Yeah, of course I am… Why do you ask?' Greg said once he stopped sniggering. 'Sorry, I'm not laughing _at_ you, it's just that you looked so funny… Adorable-funny, I mean…'

Mycroft's eyebrows were still raised, as if he was unsure what the joke was. Well, he was in a way. But Greg's explanation was enough for now. If only he felt he could be certain that he was telling him the truth with regards to his living in his house.

'Are you sure? Are you not just telling me what you _want_ to be the truth? It just sounds a bit like you're trying to convince yourself more than me… I just keep getting this feeling that you're not quite… How do I put this… Compared to your old flat, this house is so formal and un-you… Doesn't it feel like you've moved in with the Queen…' Another snort from Greg, 'No pun intended, thank you…' He smiled at Greg, who grabbed his hand and pulled him closer.

'Mycroft Holmes, will you listen to me: I've not been this happy since I was 19 and escaped school, you silly man… Okay, this place can sometimes feel like it's a posh hotel and I have to ask your cook permission to make myself an omelette, or that your housekeeper will tidy my carefully scattered stuff up in my room – I thought you'd told her to stay out of there, and no don't give me that bollocks that she's French and therefore unable to understand everything you tell her, cos she can perfectly understand it when Jeff, your driver, speaks dirty to her out the back, thanks… But apart from those small things, I've not been happier than I am now…'

Which was true… He'd been convinced that life wasn't going to be much better than it had been for him since he'd left grammar school and moved out into the rooms of the college he did his police training, and the world opened up to him: no more bullying, no more rules that made no sense, no more parents that cramped his style… Life was pretty okay for Greg Lestrade. He had mates he went out with, enough money to do the things he enjoyed, a nice place to live, the odd lover {male/female} and, when he met Louise, a woman who loved him to pieces. She knew about his past, which she claimed made no difference, as long as he was going to commit to Them As A Couple. He was happy to make that commitment for her: at that time he really loved being with her. But then, after 8 years, he began to feel the need to go back to his old life, to be free again, or at least not have her to come back to. She had an affair {so bloody predictable…} and he was fine with it. At least she was out of his hair… This carried on for a few years, the stalemate of their life together, their shell of a marriage, their relationship that appeared so nice from the outside (she accompanied him to the odd do, he carried on going to her parents, even though her dad hated his guts). He was slowly dying, he felt, but he was too lethargic to do anything about it… And then Mycroft Holmes appeared on the scene…

It may have been him that set the ball rolling for Greg. That booted him out of the lethargy he was in for three years, and finally set his divorce in motion. The moment Sherlock introduced his big brother, who occupied a minor role in the British Government, or so he was led to believe, something happened to Greg Lestrade… A sudden flash-back to his grammar school days, Anthony Harrington, who was in his year but deemed himself too good to talk to him… For weeks he'd fantasized about him, longed for him to even just speak to him, let alone for him to touch his auburn hair, his smooth face, his elegant hands… Not even close, Greg had come to him, although once he smiled at him, when they bumped into each other on the bus home (Anthony, on a bus?!), where he wasn't surrounded by his posh friends, and Greg had felt elated, floated on air for a short while, then crashed back down to earth when the next day at school he was ignored as usual… And this man here, in front of him, shaking his hand, haughtily, though very friendly, reminded him so much of those days…

It could've never worked out, he could've easily taken no notice of him, let the memories of his teenage cloud his opinion…

They didn't have much to do with each other really, for quite some time, other than things relating to Sherlock (which became slightly less when John Watson appeared on the scene and managed to do what nobody else on this planet had thus far: calm him down a little… Fall in love, even… Mycroft was stunned when he figured out that this was happening between his little brother and the good army doctor, stunned and delighted… And oddly jealous…) until that bizarre spate of murders, involving three men that had worked with him, who were all strangled by what turned out to be a scared to death high official, and Mycroft found himself being both concerned with the case _and_ more than a bit captivated by the Detective Inspector in charge. It took him quite some internal convincing to call the DI to ask him out for a coffee, he thought of tonnes of excuses to put to him, to sound convincing enough, but then thought that thanking him for the effort put in ought to be enough. Greg could always turn him down, plenty of other guys had done so over the years… He'd grown a thick skin to deal with the rejection by the men he liked but were either not gay, or just not interested, and counted himself lucky that there were enough who'd spend a night with him, every now and then… But this man…

Their first evening together was fun. They laughed, and got to know each other a bit better, and Mycroft knew he was on a slippery slope when he noticed he couldn't get to sleep that night, as Gregory Lestrade kept appearing on his mind, time after time… It took a couple of sleeping pills to get him to finally drift off, at three in the morning. He felt wretched the next day. And quite odd… He found himself sending a text, which contained the following:

_Gregory, thanks for last night, enjoyed myself tremendously, wouldn't mind repeating soon. ~MH_

The recipient of this text found himself raising his eyebrows and pressing the thing away, out of embarrassment. Then read it once more a few hours later, trying to get his head around it. And again, and again… He noticed that his heart would pound a bit faster whenever he saw the words from Mycroft. That he felt happy. And he hadn't been happy for so long now… So bloody long…

He could still feel giddy whenever he thought of their first kiss, in the back of Mycroft's chauffeur driven car, how nice it was, to feel the other man's lips on his, a _man_'s lips on his again after so many years. Mycroft was a careful kisser, a cautious one at first, on his guard with Greg, scared probably of rejection. But it was lovely, and begged for more. So he got more… Much more…

His hand was being tugged, he felt, he knew that he was wanted upstairs, come to bed, make love, feel desired and loved, do so to Mycroft. He got up and let himself be led up the stairs, before receiving a gentle kiss. He allowed himself to get undressed, and returned the pleasure, with delight. He caressed the body that touched his, kissed it, stroked it, and relished the feeling of the same done to himself, his reserved lover allowing himself to enjoy the pleasures of touch and letting go.

Some time later they'd lie closely together, arms wrapped around and fingers stroking gently. Greg would rake his fingers through his love's hair, and feel blissful at the notion that this was the reality of his life now, and for the future, if he'd let it. To spend his life with this wonderful, occasionally insecure, always gentle, funny man… Even if that meant giving up a few silly things he would be missing from his single days… Not a great sacrifice, he thought, and an idiotic grin would be plastered on his face. He had his own gentleman… Life was sweet…


End file.
